Beth Visits America

Come see what Beth's up to! She's living in her pickup truck (lovingly known as Tach), and rambling the byways and backroads of America. When she has money, that is. When she runs out, she stops and gets a job until she can drive on again. Stop in here, add your comments, and wish her the best. And heck, if you have a driveway, can she sleep in it?

July 10, 2005

Not much room for anything other than the bed, but it's one hell of a bed. It's also the bed that Sukie and Jackson have on Gilmore Girls, as Christy pointed out to me. They have good taste.

My beloved trunk, which holds, naturally:

all things yarn related. My pirate booty.

That's it. Me nesting. Happy. Home. (items not shown: a spur-of-the-moment trip to Redding with sister Christy to see a bridge, walks and girl talks with best roommate ever Katy, parties full of long lost friends, a little momma short hours away, sister Rachael sitting and spinning in the same city as me, concerts, dinners, dates, bizarre job requests, Oakland, San Francisco)

Last year was amazing. But I feel like I am back in my own shoes again. Or cowboy boots, as the case may be.

July 01, 2005

Okay, adios is easy to spell, but French was never my strong suit. Don't tell me if I butchered that.

Okay. So. It would seem that this really was a travel blog and not a knit blog, despite the few paltry WIPs and FOs I put up.

I do have plenty of excuses for not writing: my job is 150% insane, I tend to work weekends, I haven't had phones much the less DSL at my house until this week, my car has broken down four times (Four times!! Dear Tach never let me down once on the road, and as soon as we come to a rest, he needs new brakes, new tires, new clutch cylinders, and new belts! It's like he's taking a deep sigh and letting it all go. It's okay, though, cause my mechanic is actually honest and incredibly hot. He drives a Ducati. Mmmm. End of aside), and so on, and so on...

Really I'm just lazy. And have nothing to say. Except this, which I may have already said, about my job: ever seen The Office? Picture all those people stoned. Then they wake up and realize that they had three deadlines yesterday. That's where I work. We once had an hour-long discussion in a meeting about the benefits of boxes over envelopes. And in the end, we decided to use both. Good God.

So my job is crazy, but it is pretty interesting. My house is finally coming together, after replacing the water heater, disposal, linoleum, a window, all the blinds, a faucet, and a door. Not to mention buying every single piece of furniture that a human being can buy. But it's finally there.

Having my very own room, for the long-term, inspired some truly adult decorating. Knowing that I am going to live in this place for a while gave me the gumption to actually make it how I want it.

I went with a pirate them. A very subtle pirate theme. So subtle, I think I am the only one that gets it, but I get it, and I love it. The walls and windows are light and beachy - sky blue on the bottom half of the walls, white on the top, and turquoise trim, with gauzy curtains. For all the furniture and accents I went with old-fashioned lushness: maroon bedding, a huge oak and wrought iron bed, maroon beaded curtain ties, dark stained bookshelves, and, the perfect touch, a giant antique humpback captains chest. Where I keep my booty. That's right, it is the perfect size for my now gigantic yarn stash.

And that's it. I am settled. And loving it. I do miss the road a bit; I haven't ridden any of my beloved backroads since I've been back, thanks to the aforementioned craziness. Maybe that's what Tach has been complaining about. Three months of interstate can make a wanderlusty truck a little bitchy.

So this blog is at an end. I'll post again when I wander again, mostly because I love the way it helps me actually remember things. And because I met some amazing people through this, and I think about them and miss their influence on my life every day. And all I can say is I am sorry I am a lame ass and neglect my e-mail regularly. Look me up any time you choose to hit the road and find your way out to the west coast.

Must go... tearing up...

I never was good at goodbyes. I tend to drag them out, or do something horribly anti-climactic, like rear-ending a car while reversing and waving.

Anyway, I have two blogging sisters that are far more interesting than me, so I'll just go live vicariously through them for a while. I think I'll leave you with a song, lyrics imperfectly remembered:

The old ways are changing, ye canna deny, The way of the traveler's over. There's nowhere to gang, and there's nowhere to bide, So farewell to the live of the rover.

Goodbye to the tents and the old caravan, To the tinker, the gypsy, the traveling man, And goodbye to the thirty-foot trailer.

April 03, 2005

Wow. My sister is on the front page of the LA Times today. Wow. I have nothing else to say, but... wow. I feel like I should say something sparkling, as the billions of visitors that will now flood her website just might click over to her wee little sister's site, but... nothing. Just wow. Wow.

March 25, 2005

I was driving home from work yesterday, when I noticed a red metallic heart hovering about ten feet in the air in front of someone's garage. It moved away from me as I approached, no vertical movement, just away, just enough for me to know that it wasn't tethered to anything. Very strange. It was that plastic bag in the breeze moment.

The strangest thing was when I thought, "but it's not valentine's day yet". Then I realized it was over a month ago. God, this job has me insane.

It's great, it's interesting, it's in the publishing field, but goddamn it's crazy. I realized when talking to Christy yesterday that it is like an American version of The Office. With stoners. We spent an hour talking about the virtues of envelopes versus boxes versus boxes within boxes. Jesus Christ.

On top of that insanity, there are always deadlines tomorrow and fires to put out (not literally; or if there are, the firestarter generally takes care of them). It makes the day go by in a wink, but I haven't had time to dawdle and blog-surf even once. Whine. Hell, I haven't had time to organize my desk.

I can't decide if I love it or hate it. A very Valentine's/relationship feeling. We'll just wait and see.

Travel news; still haven't taken that trip up the coast. Damn it. Maybe next weekend.

Knitting news; finished my first sock! I am very proud, and now have the toe of a second sock. And I still think it is completely insane to spend 5 hours on something that will go on my stinky feet, hidden under shoes. Maybe I'll just have to make them for friends with the blessing of linen fresh feet and those funny-ass clear boots specifically for showcasing knitted socks. Hmmm... I need some new friends.

March 07, 2005

Okay. I can't hold it in any more. This (took out the link from paranoia, but safe to say that it is a publishing house that makes books about the bud) is where I am working now. I love it. It's very... San Francisco. Even though it's in Oakland. The really crazy thing is that I was applying for police dispatch positions before I found this place. How varied is my life.

For the first time in simply ages, I found myself in the position of welcoming back travelers, instead of being the traveler welcomed back. It was kinda nice. And I got souvenirs! Presents are nice. Most of them were made of french chocolate, and they are gone now. Mmm. I told Christy it was time for her to go back when I finished the last bar last night while watching the Parisian episodes of Sex and the City.

This weekend's event was one of the most eclectic weddings I have ever been to. It was for a dear life-long family friend, one of my mother's Mothers For Peace fellows, and the wedding guests ranged from the home-made peasant skirt attired to a member of the Los Angeles Philharmonic. There were equal amounts of sequins and birkenstocks. It was great.

What sucked was that I was sick as a dog. The entire time I was traveling, I got exactly one mild cold. Since I've been back, I don't think I've been healthy for more than a few days in a row (if you count hangovers), and this last one was truly nasty and knocked me out for about a week and a half. Blech. Maybe my body truly is built for motion. Well, tough shit, body. Get used to the sedentary life.

Having said that, I am completely ready for a mini-trip. I think I am going to go call Rach and convince her to take the convertible out for a spin on the coast. Oh yeah, time for some wind in my hair and familiar haunts.

February 27, 2005

Oh, this is so nice. Have I said already how great it is to be back? Back where a friend is a friend...

I went to my first concert in the city, Lala's band the Whoreshoes, a band that seems so perfectly San Francisco. They are all just as cute as can be, looking a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll and sounding very honky-tonky. Opening for them was the band Cotton Candy, a delightfully silly band wearing lots of pink, playing accordions and organs, and singing about kitchen utensils and anal sex. Not in the same song. Thank god. I had a bit of of a fright trying to picture them singing at the bar in Montana.

Then I came home (well, to Christy's home, cause she's off frolicking in Paris) and watched Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere until the wee hours of the morning, casting a delightfully dark glow on my memories of the evening. Pink accordions have no place in London below, and yet it was so perfect.

The next day brought a task that is synonymous with San Francisco in my mind: apartment hunting. We actually found a few possibilities in our price range, although they are all in complexes, and we were so hoping to find a delightful little cabin behind someone's house in the hills of Lafayette, perhaps owned by a rich, artsy type who just wanted to help out a couple of girls. Still, the complexes weren't bad. One of them had the most amazing seventies rock garden courtyard, and retro-futuristic light fixtures.

I topped the day off with a visit to my friendly neighborhood liquor store, where the universe rewarded me with the strangest find ever. My eye caught on a four-pack of Del Monte pudding, pink bubble gum flavored, which is strange enough to be fabulous. Then I noticed that Alvin was on the packaging. Alvin the chipmunk. When was the last time you saw Alvin? That's right, this package of fluorescent pink pudding dates back to 1991. It was a "NEW Flavor" back then; I wonder why it never caught on? And I love that this little store never got rid of them.

Today I am off to the thea-tah. Fetes le nui, a saucy musical valentine put on by Berkely Rep. Don't bring the kids; nudity and racy scenes are plentiful. Oh, it's good to be back.

February 19, 2005

Heh. Heh heh. Just finished ranting at the computer and typepad because my post I wrote an hour ago was not showing up. Went to repost it, and realized I had put it under Bethany's 100 Things. It's been too long since I posted.

It's been a bit crazy. No, it's been a lot crazy.

Having made my decision to leave Montana, I went absolutely mad trying to accomplish it immediately. That meant packing up the belongings I had accumulated into my wee stuffed Tach, till he was just about ready to burst, cleaning thouroughly both houses, draining, antifreezing, and otherwise winter proofing the places, and, most importantly, finishing the damn bathroom floor.

It's done. And it's beautiful. And I really wish I had developed my film so I could post a picture. I made a mosaic, with 1 inch square tiles, cut in places so that the curves of the tree and the road would even out a bit better. It's definitely not perfect, a bit of an amateur production, but grout covers many flaws, and I am delighted.

And damn, was it hard! My little how-to books did not mention that fact. The first thing I had to do was mix the cement. Really, I should have known that hand-mixing cement with a stick was not going to be the easiest thing. But after that, I needed a break. Unfortunately, a break meant that the cement would harden a bit, and since it took me about 6 hours of work, breaks were not a good idea.

Okay, and can someone explain How one can Begin at the center, work their Way out, and not step on the Damn Tiles before they are Set? It is simply Not Possible. Still, I did my best, perching on the tub and contorting into strange positions that left me cramped and twitching on the floor hours later.

Still. It was my floor. A floor that I made. Hee. Worth all the pain. I may even do it again someday.

Packed, cleaned, drained, and buffed, I headed south. Traveling... with a destination, not rambling at all. I stuck to interstates covered in snow, and stopped at cheap motels, since I didn't even have room to recline my seat, and the passenger's side was full of "one more bag"s that I tried to cram in.

I spent a few lovely days at my Aunt and Uncle's house in Tucson, Arizona. I know, Arizona is not technically on the way home, but there was simply no direct way to get from MT to CA anyway, so I figured why not make it a wee bit less direct. They showed me the sights of Tucson, including a delightful spring making an oasis in the desert, fed me very, very well, and introduced me to the Tucson Gem and Mineral Show, a more-than-a-week-long extravaganza of fossils, rocks, wee boxes, huge carved jade, ornate jewelry, and the odd decorative knife or two, all filling the hotel and motel rooms of every single inn in Tucson. A little overwhelming, but much fun for a packrat such as myself.

I also got a whole bunch of puppy tummy rubs in, and was presented with an amazing Hasselblad style camera, one that takes two and a quarter film and with a viewfinder you look down into. It's purty. Um, I am still working on developing my first roll. I'm a little slow.

With good reason, though. I have a new job! After weeks, okay, days, of being ignored for well-paying positions I thought were perfect for me, I found the job that really was perfect for me. I am working for small publishing house, as a kind of Girl Friday! I do a bit of everything, and I love it. The books that we publish are... delightfully San Francisco. The owner/head writer is a huge medical marijuana activist, and all our books are pretty much about pot. The office is clean, organized, and professional; it's not like we are working out of someone's basement. It's just the subject matter that is a bit different. I love it. The job, not the pot.

Job, check. Apartment, next task.

I'm back, baby!!! On my way to dinner in North Beach, I drove past the defenestration building, and got a bit giddy. The defenestration (the act of throwing something out the window) building is on the corner of Harrison and 6th, and was a big art project, years ago. There are all sorts of things crawling out the windows: cast iron tubs, twisted as if caught in motion, lamps stretching way out, a telephone, the receiver leaping out first. It's a completely animate and strange building.

January 15, 2005

You know what the best thing about snow is? You can be 100 percent positive that no one is stalking you.

Not that that’s something I ever think about, but it is still soothing to look out my back door and through the windows at the uninterrupted spreads of whiteness. Unmarked, except for one little trodden path past my kitchen window from the deer visiting my apple tree. And I’m not really worried about deer peeping in my windows.

It is stunning out there. I have purposely left the back porch covered, so that the mounds of snow just outside the glass reminds me every time I look up that I am surrounded. We had a little blizzard a couple days ago, that deposited about twenty inches of snow on us in less than a day. It was great! I am also very glad to work at a motel, so that if I am stranded, I can just commandeer a bed.

It was especially great, considering the fact that I have decided to head back towards sunnier climes. It’s gorgeous here, but it really isn’t me. It took me a while, but I finally decided that I am just a city girl, albeit one that loves the mountains, and all my ties are someplace else.

The response of my employers to my notice was somewhat telling. "I have to warn you," I started.

"I knew it!" she said, not happy, but definitely not surprised. "I mean, there’s nothing for you here. I knew it would just be a matter of time."

Everyone else knew, while I had my head in the snow. Ah well. I’m enjoying my last few weeks here, soaking up the cold and the… pretty. My yard is full of snow angels. It would be full of snowmen, but they are really hard to make! I’ll try again, but they always turn out strange and disfigured. I’d rather just flop down in the snow and writhe a bit. Then run inside and have hot cocoa and admire.

January 12, 2005

Shoot, I really had the best intentions today. I was going to go through my entire mailbox, post something genius, and clean like a dervish, basically stop my hibernating. Three feet of snow on my back porch, you'd think that I would be online constantly. Nope. I slept.

I'm a big slumbery bear. I love winter, I love frolicking, but I love even more cozying up under warm thermal blankets. But now I have to run, cause I have to dig my car out before I go to work. So... I promise, the good intentions will continue tomorrow. Now, out into the delicious cold.

December 28, 2004

Grr. The weather refuses to co-operate. No matter how hard I screwed my face up in concentration and danced like crazy for snow, the sun was very persistent, and we had no white Christmas. Gul darn it.

I am becoming increasingly slothlike, and I can't even blame it on cold gloomy weather. I have to close my blinds and pretend like it's nasty. But it's not. It's sunny and beautiful. Grr.

I may be pulling out of my cocoon just a bit. I went on a massive cleaning spree on Christmas Eve, finding the orange peels in a bag by my bed that were contributing to a very strange odor, and now I can see the floor again. I actually got up before noon today. (really, that's better than it sounds; working until midnight, I don't generally sleep until 2 am, so before noon is really quite... well, it's less than ten hours of sleep, anyway.)

Still haven't found the desire to knit anything, which is really pissing me off. I have about fifty half-done projects, and instead of doing anything, I sit in my knitting chair and stare out the window. There is something that glitters, just over the pastor's house. I'm not sure if it is a weird weather vane, catching an odd reflection, or some Christmas lights from a strange angle, but every time I look out the window, day or night, there is a big, glowing arrow pointing westward.

Signs are a wonderful thing, but really they are only justifications. "Hmm, I feel like some ice cream... but I really shouldn't... but look at that, the refrigerator just went on! It's a sign!" So I am ignoring the arrow. For now.

Of course the arrow is also pointing to the Blue Castle, where the bathroom floor has yet to be finished and the buggy room still has its door closed firmly. Hey, but I said I'm ignoring that sign, right? At least for today.

December 23, 2004

Whoof. I have been such a lump. Unwilling to budge from my bed in order to knit, go online, even take a whiz. Winter hibernation? Or just a good excuse?

I managed to go to the library and grocery store, and make some passable fudge today, and that's the most I have done in a week. I haven't even been getting up to put a CD on. What a lump.

Okay, so in the interest of getting out of my slump, I shall try to focus on happy things. Let's see... weather. Actually, that's not really a happy thing. Unless it makes a sharp turnaround and actually starts snowing in the next 48 hours. I want a white Christmas, damn it!

I've actually been seeing some of the winter weather beauties that aren't associated with snow. We've had a few amazing mornings with a thick mist or fog clinging to the valley, with the mountain tops peeking out the top, in pale violet skies. Fog so thick and cold that when you drive into it, it freezes on your windshield. And the woodsmoke smell throughout it all.

So it's pretty. That's as cheery as I feel today. Catch me tomorrow, I have homemade fudge and a bottle of champagne, and I intend to make myself merry.

December 09, 2004

I have no problem dealing with people's shit; in fact, I'm pretty good at it. I do, however, draw the line at actually, physically, dealing with people's shit. I may not know exactly what I want to do with my life, but I hereby vow that very, very soon, I will have a job that does not have contact with other's excrement. I think that's a very reasonable demand.

Normally hotel jobs are such a breeze. They lull you into a false sense of security. And then you get someone who didn't make it to the bathroom and wants you to change his bed. Good lord, no. No, no, no. Not for six dollars an hour. Maybe not for sixty.

Bwah. Urgh. Okay, shake it off. By tomorrow, I'll be lulled back into that comfy denial.

Let's see, what else... I made some cookies, wrapped up a candle, and went to the Ladie's Bible Study Christmas Party today. It was nice. Chai tea and chocolate, and I got a copy of the Left Behind video in the exchange. Amazing, considering that ninety percent of the presents were candles. Much fun.

Now it's getting dark, and I have to run over to the Blue Castle to clean up the mess I made. Tomorrow, I lay the first tile in the bathroom. Dang, I've been saying that for a while, haven't I? Well, tomorrow, it's really going to happen.

December 07, 2004

Good lord, no, I can't do cables without a cable needle. I know it's probably slowing me down, but it's a lot quicker than struggling with a crochet hook to find all the stitches I dropped the other way. And I'm pretty speedy with the needle now.

It is gor-gee-ous outside right now. It started snowing last night, full-tilt, and it just stopped a few minutes ago, when the sun came out. There is about a foot of fresh, light snow on the ground, and piled up on all the trees and posts. Ooo, it's beautiful. I tried to work at my computer this morning, and I spent half an hour staring out the window before I got anything done. Now I am just itching to go build a snowman, but I made myself promise to post first.

So. We have snow. Work is the same. Everything else is the same. And that's about it out here. Of course, if I wait until something interesting happens to post, you might not hear from me for a while.

Eek! The sun is already melting stuff, even though it's only been out for a minute! Must run out and frolic! Only have the rest of the winter to play in the snow, can't dawdle!

November 27, 2004

Well shoot, seems to me there should be someway, if photos are already online, to just slap them up here. But either I'm a computer fool (quite possible) and can't figure it out, or I have to download and then re-upload them. Poop.

Well, sorry, but my computer is way too slow and me way to impatient for that today. So I have pictures. But you can't see them.

It's snowing again. And I still like it. I was so giddy when I woke up this afternoon (midnight shift last night), I had to go and frolic, and catch flakes on my tongue. I wandered down to the river, and then on to the cafe for a hot french dip sandwich. On the way home, I was adopted by a big, old Golden, who is still sitting on my porch outside after following me home.

Mmmm, life is toasty and nice sometimes. I think I am going to go make my buddy Nate happy by taking some pictures of old semaphore train signals in the snow. Then hot cocoa maybe. And knitting. Mmmm.

Strange, I just had to change Mmm to Mmmm, cause Mmm was just wrong. Three Ms connotes uncertainty and has a slight sardonic tone, while four Ms, Mmmm, is just toasty and content. Or is that just me. Hmmm. Or hmmmm? Okay, lack of sleep catching up. Why is it that Rach never seems all goofy and weird after two hours of sleep? Ah, she probably just edits herself better.

November 25, 2004

I've been slowly but surely working through my stash of books. I brought an Ingram sized box full along with me, and I'm about 2/3 of the way through it now. Problem is, all the light and fluffy ones go first. For the past weeks, I've been on a steady diet of serious literary works, with nonfiction about autism and avian extinction thrown in. I was desperate yesterday, so I raided the 'free' bookshelf outside the library. I would have raided the library, but it's only open for an hour on first thursdays of the month followed by a full moon.

I now have several... fabulous, ancient harlequins. They are all set 'abroad', somewhere warm, and they all have the heroine sighing over a forceful, dangerous, but handsome noble of Latin blood. Was this what they were all like, or did someone in this town have a particular fantasy?

"Yet love knew no bounds. In a few days time, she would leave the Castelo far behind, but always she would have in her heart this strange, slightly sinister man whose only words to her were tinged with sarcasm."

Oh dear. Maybe I'll go back to my passenger pigeons.

Speaking of edible birds, happy Thanksgiving! I bought a couple bottles of Martinelli's, and I'm going to be starting a party in the lobby of the motel. It'll be wild. Have fun, y'all.

November 20, 2004

All day yesterday it was just drifting lazily down. It was so light, I thought it was ash, or dandruff, but nope, it was snow! And then just before I left my lovely warm coffee shack with its satellite TV, it really started snowing. Yay! There’s even still just a touch left on the ground. Not nearly as impressive as the first snow this year, but this time it feels like it might just keep going. And going, and going.

Am I crazy? I can’t wait for the snow to be piled high. Big mounds of the stuff. I just had a vision of the back yard, full of fantastical snow men and forts. Whaddya call it when you build a little home out of snow? Not an igloo… is that a yurt? Whatever it is, I want to build one. And eat graham crackers inside of it, while watching the snow fall.

Let’s see, other news… I worked a ten hour day at the coffee shop yesterday. Although ‘work’ is really to strong a word. Every now and then I would fix someone a coffee, but for the most part, I sat next to the heater, knitting, and watching Gilmore Girls. And Buffy. And about fifty episodes of Law and Order. That show must be on all day long, on one channel or another.

That is what I call a job.

Today I have the whole day off, and I was planning on starting to tile. Instead, I am going to play hookey and head up to Plains for knitting and companionship. And maybe a hot tub on the way. Woo!

November 12, 2004

Okay, I’m back for real now. I was feeling a little sad and lonely for a while, you know, post election blues. I’m feeling good now.

My sister (sister Christy, not sister Rachael), at this very moment, is winging her way to come see me! Yay! I love visitors, and I love sisters! Double yay!

On top of that, I finally have all the tile and supplies and plans ready to mosaic the bathroom floor! Yay again!

Okay, I may have cheerleadered myself into a good mood, but at least I’m there, damn it.

I am desperately craving a digital camera. I taught myself how to tat! It actually comes far more naturally to me than knitting, and I have made the cutest little trim that is destined for a pillowcase or something. And there’s no one to ooo and ah, damn it! I think I’ll take it with me when I go to Spokane to pick Christy up, search down some LYS, and shove it in someone’s face. "Look! Look what I did! Appreciate!"

I have far too many things in the air right now. I know, given the rate I work at, that I need to get going on any Christmas present projects, but I really don’t want to put down my Montana sweater. I still only have the back and one sleeve almost done, but I need to finish it so I can wear it at least once during the winter here. Preferably more than once. I’ve started allocating time and spaces. The guy sweater present is the coffee shop job; perfect for sitting in a warm booth, smelling the brew, and watching Charmed. The tatting stays at the motel; small, easy to hide, takes a bit of attention still. And the Montana sweater must be done in my comfy big knitting chair, the one that faces the mountain out my back door, and where I can kick my feet up on my rocker.

If I start anything else, I’m going to have to leave one on my bedside table, one next to the toilet, and one on top of my computer. And one in my car, but that’s just not safe. Which means I have to finish something. Poop.

Weather here is cold, but we haven’t seen any more snow yet. It’s just around the corner, though. I feel like I’m on tiptoes, waiting for it. I’ve made two massive trips to the supermarket for canned stuff and water, and I took advantage of the one sunny day we had to paint the new front porch and the trim. Well, the front half of the trim, anyway. I may have been a little nostalgic for San Francisco, though, in my color choices. The cute blue house now has maroon trim and a porch with pink highlights. Maybe a wee bit Victorian, but it is the Blue Castle, right? It needed a spiff.

At the same time, I also finally took down the Christmas lights. I can’t believe that took me so long. I can’t believe that I am going to be putting them up again so soon. And yes, I am going to decorate. My parents never did more than a bit of luminaria, and I always agreed with them, thinking the subtle touches were better; the tree through the window, the glowing bags on Christmas Eve. Plus way cheaper. Yay cheapness. Still, in Minneapolis I saw what Christmas lights are supposed to look like, blanketed by snow, and I was hooked. I want that snowy glow.

Crap, I should NOT be thinkng Christmas. It’s way, way too early. It’s the project thing, and the fact that there is eggnog at the coffee shop now, and if there’s eggnog, you have to drink it. I even found myself eyeing the Soulfull Christmas CDs in my collection the other day. No! I will hold out untill after Thanksgiving. And there will be not another word about it. And I apologize for even bringing up the subject.

November 02, 2004

The night before I spent at Rancho Nicasio, dancing madly and tearing up occasionally as Lee Press On and the Nails performed their final show ever. That's ever and always, folks. An era is dead. Sigh. Still, for those about to commit ritual suicide, don't despair. You can still catch Lee backing up the fabulous Lesley Pressley in Viva la Diva.

I sound like a bizarre press release. A good time was had by all... There were about sixteen of us there (my friends, not total audience members - the place was packed), and we just went nuts. Deb flew in from Mexico, me from Montana, and we had one guy at our table who came from Pennsylvania, just for this show. And it was so worth it. They played all night long, and they've never sounded better.

The next night was Halloween, so I headed, already hungover, for the Castro. Maybe we just left too early, but it seemed almost... ghostlike, and not in a good way. It was not the crush that I had been expecting. And a good half of the people there were just gawkers. The best costume was sushi, and I only saw one near-naked guy. And no knifings. Tame.

We left early and went back to the apartment to get really blasted and watch Bubba Ho Tep. Much fun.

Now... I'm about to leave to fly back. I don't want to go. I've been talking about the amazing beauty of Montana, and how it just rocks, but I think I've just been trying to psych myself up. I haven't been mentioning the fact that I am broke getting broker, still don't have a bathtub, and haven't met a single person I would call friend. Okay, maybe one. I just spent a wonderful weekend with my sisters and friends, and now I don't want to leave!

We'll see. Here in the Bay Area I have a friend ready and willing to move in with me, and a possible job offer as assistant dyer in a yarn warehouse. There I have a graveyard motel job and an empty house. But there's snow! And... okay, I can't come up with an and.

Sigh. I like Montana, and I like to finish what I start, but I'm just not cheery at the moment.

October 28, 2004

Halloween is coming!! I’m getting in the mood by listening to “Don’t fear the Reaper”, and scary movie soundtracks. Not to mention LPN and the Necromantics. “Haunted Cathouse” must be one of the finest written songs ever.

You know, the best side effect of not having a mirror in the house is the fact that I dance more. I was just boogeying in my seat, and I realized that back in the day, I would dance around, and at some point, catch a glimpse of just how silly I looked. Without a mirror, no reminder, so I just quietly look silly, and love it.

I gave away my candy today. I had bought two big bags, of the good stuff, so that I would be loved and admired on the block. Since it turns out I am heading to CA for the holidays, I didn’t need it. Which meant it would end up in my tummy very soon. So I did the right thing, and gave it to my neighbor across the street (who, by the way, is sporting another black eye, but we don’t talk about such things). I’m missing that chocolate already.

I’m in a very strange, black mood. I’ve been thinking depressing thoughts, death and finances and the like, yet I am completely cheery. I’m relishing it. It’s the perfect halloweeney mood.

Speaking of perfectly halloweeney, how about that eclipse last night? Yeah, that’s all I have to say on the subject. How about that. Eclipses are one of those things that you wander outside, look up, say, “huh, how about that”, and wander back in. In Montana, this time of the year, you wander quickly, as it’s already below freezing. Still, they’re neat.

I fly out tomorrow. My costume is packed, and waiting by the door. Tonight my brain won’t solidify long enough to make a cohesive blog, so I’ll just wish y’all a merry halloween, may lots of sugar and spooks come your way.

October 24, 2004

I remember, way back in junior high, sneaking my sister's musical theater albums out from her room. Andrew Lloyd Weber was a biggie back then, and she had a collection, of course. The one selection from JC Superstar was, of course, "I don't know how to love him", or IDKHTLH. Damn, that's hard to shorten. I really, really hated that song. Mostly because the lady singing it felt that she had to emphasize LOVE; she hit that word hard. Like if she didn't belt it, we would mistake it for something else. Did she say mug? She wants to rob Jesus?

Yesterday I came home to find a cute little autumnal cloth bag hanging from my door, with a snickers bar and two comic book tracts on finding Jesus. One of my favorite panels is when the angel surprises Mary with the knowledge that she is pregnant. Her surprised expression looks very much like a need to puke. Another favorite shows an old man in a black jacket and scarf (shades of Stephen King), telling his young friend,"Yes, George. He's the ONLY One who can rescue you from eternal damnation in the lake of fire."

Mmm. Anyway, I fooled them. Little did they know, I have two houses here. So I got two Snickers, and only half the message. So there.

This morning I had a little peaceful, spiritual moment. The type where you don't want to breathe, for fear of breaking the spell. I slept terribly last night, and the local siren that calls the volunteer firemen finally woke me up (the neon sign at the Frosty's caught on fire). I slogged my way to the window in the kitchen, peeked out the window, and saw that almost an inch of pure snow had been left in my backyard overnight. It was still almost completely dark; but enough light reflected off the snow under my apple tree for me to just see the shape of a young little doe, her head bent to pick at the apples I was too lazy to harvest.

I really like snow. It's neat. I suppose the novelty will wear off soon; that's part of the reason I am here, after all. I love San Francisco, and that's where I am planning on ending up, but I have this unhealthy attachment to the white stuff. I have to glut myself, and hope the enchantment fades, cause it's in short supply in the Bay Area. We'll see how that goes. When it gets all muddy and nasty and really, really, really cold, and extremities threaten to fall off... well, we'll see.

PS. I love my weather pixie, but it pisses me off that in sub-freezing weather she still looks svelte, if entirely covered. Sorry, but when it gets cold, you look like a marshmallow. That's all there is to it, and computer icons should not be exempt. Bitch.

October 18, 2004

The trip to Glacier was wonderful. The mountains around here have gone all wonky with color; amazing for what looked to me like a state full of evergreens. There's aspens by the rivers and on the edges of course, but even better than those the trees that I am assuming are larches. I've mentioned I'm not so good with the botany thing, right?

These trees were masquerading as evergreens, until a few weeks ago, they suddenly started to blaze. Now there are fabulous patterns on all the hillsides. The one outside my window is green all the way up its south face, then yellow most of the way down the north, until about halfway down where it goes all spotted. Some mountains are so perfectly spotted, they look like quilts, a not-quite-random marriage of colors. Others have one yellow stripe running at a certain elevation, or a gold V where the mountain dips and rises. A few even have spots of red added into the mix, and don't even ask me what those are. The larch thing was lucky guess from my momma.

I drove north through the leaves, on backroads the whole time, the light absolutely perfect. It was bouncing off the clouds up ahead in entrancing ways, and enhancing the highlights of color on the mountains.

The clouds should have given me a warning, though. By the time I got to Glacier, it was overcast and drizzling, and halfway through it started to pour. I'm not actually sure the mountains really exist; they just ended 20 feet above my head.

That's not to say it wasn't gorgeous. It is Glacier, after all, and I managed to get all the way through on the Going-to-the-Sun (yeah, right) road. Just in time, too. It snowed that night over my camping spot in East Glacier, and the road was scheduled to close today anyway.

The night was not so much fun. The leaks that plaqued the second half of my trip have turned into a minor flood. I could actually see the water dripping in. I scrunched to the other side of the truck, and cozied up in my warm, warm sleeping bag (Ruprecht, I seem to remember naming him), and slept just fine. Except that I was parked next to a very active rail line. And I kept falling off the bed. It's been a while since it was just me and a mattess in there; I was always boxed in before, with no where else to go.

I headed home the next morning, and enjoyed the rest of my weekend by sitting on my ass and reading, knitting, painting, and being a lazy bum. It was great.

I am (still) at the armholes in my Montana sweater. I've stalled a bit. I don't know if I'm scared to tackle them (as I'm adapting the pattern quite a bit), or if I've just been busy with other projects. Which I have. I finished a mobius scarf (meant to be a shawl, but I put an extra twist in, so really it's best as a scarf now) in a lovely green Jo Sharp tweed accented with lime green mohair. The combo was odd, but I think it worked. Sorry, no pictures. Someday I'll go digital, till then, words only.

I am also almost done with a autumnal/halloweeney scarf that I just love, made with yarns from Art Fibers. It's lush. It's also the first time I've worked with any type of novelty yarn, and I have resolved never to mock the stuff again. It's freaking hard to knit with that! The only thing saving my sanity is that it's alternated with a nice wool in woodsy colors.

Aaaand... I started another sweater for a guy, and a shawl for a gift. I'm ADD girl nowadays, it seems. Speaking of, I've been doing this one thing for far too long. Must flit...

October 13, 2004

Well, I finally decided on a Halloween costume. I'm being extremely original this year. I'm going to be... a witch! Okay, maybe not so original, but I've never actually been a basic warts-and-broomsticks type witch, and it'll be fun, in a reclaiming my childhood type way. It was either that, or a pretty, pretty, princess, and princess dresses don't come cheap. Not to mention the tiaras.

My decorating this year is rather minimal. I have my trusty glow-in-the-dark skeletons hanging in the entanceway, and a life-size hand, with glow-in-the-dark nails and veins, holding a candle by my front door. Lovely. I also have a little placque, showing a woman in a duster, cowboy hat and boots, and a black mask, standing next to a Harley. I'm not really sure if that's Halloweeny or not; but how could you pass that up in a Goodwill? It would take a stronger woman than me to not plunk down the exorbitant fee of 50 cents. Did I mention she is slipping on black gloves, with one leg cocked and peeking out from the duster?

After today's shift, I have three days off in a row. I know I should buckle down and do some cleaning and writing and house stuff, but Glacier is just calling me! The weather has been glorious, and I just heard from someone that the Going-to-the-sun road, or whatever they call it, has been re-opened. Mmm. Maybe just a quick trip. I think I'll go throw my futon in the truck now. Gotta live up to the blog name, after all. So I'll ramble my way north for a few days.

I'm conveniently forgetting that momma and me did that for a week. She saw more countryside than I have since I've been here! I think I overloaded her a bit; on the way home from our last jaunt up to Kalispell, she had to shut her eyes through some fabulous mountains. "There's too much to look at!" she mumbled. "I can't keep it straight!"

Still, traveling with a companion is more of a jaunt. A trip. It's not pure rambling. So away I go.

October 09, 2004

Sorry for the quiet; I’ve been running for weeks. Now I am running out of steam, and feeling too tired to raise my head. I’m embarrased to admit it, but my 60+ momma is running me ragged. Well, her, and working till midnight most every day.

The wedding in CA was fabulous. Everything went without a hitch, the bride was stunning, and started to give some luminescent grins when her nerves wore off. I danced like a maniac, drank like one too. After the reception, which was at a gorgeous old victorian with a turret that housed a giant bathtub (heaven!), we took the keg home and played drunken ping pong.

Then came the long, long, long drive home. I made it down there in 24 hours, backroads half the time, and stuck to interstates on the way back with the momma, which cut the time down to 22 hours. Woo hoo. I was fully in pain by the end of that run, and I don’t think I’ve gotten my breath back just yet. I’ve been running here and there, seeing the sights in between motel shifts. But I love it. I’ve got a visitor! And she cleans, too! Today she did my laundry!

Yesterday we were wandering the backroads home from Missoula, and ended up on a little dirt logging road, not a house or a soul in sight the entire time. Halfway to nowhere, we came across the friendliest old dog in the world, panting like crazy, and very unwilling to leave our truck. We had to turn around 10 minutes later, and when we got back to that point in the road, there he was, looking pitifully hot and thirsty, and needful of a friend. I opened the tailgate, and he jumped right in and settled down.

Later we realized that we probably kidnapped someone’s hunting dog, and they were out in the forest for hours calling him, but at the time we thought we were being very good samaritan-ish. We took him to the address on his collar, and he hopped out, greeted by another lumping old American Brown dog, that came around the corner with a bit of turf or something in his mouth. No people anywhere, so we just turned around and headed home. I’m actually a little tickled by the thought of his owners coming home and finding him, flabbergasted as to how he got there. He’s just gonna grin that quiet grin of his, and they’ll never know.

September 27, 2004

I finally got around to bombing the crap out the spiders under the house, the ones that have been creeping up through the heating vents in ones and twos. I closed all the vents I could find, but they must have a super secret spy way in, because the house was chock full of casualties of war when I got home tonight. Several of them the ping-pong sized variety. All of them requiring squooshing. What fun.

My sisters and I played fun little games, attempting to manipulate each other into doing things for us. It usually came down to who wanted it more, and me being the easy going gal that I am, I usually caved and brought Rachael the damn banana. I shocked her once, though. There was a giant spider on the floor in the rec room (actually our garage). She was playing the "no, you do it" game, sure I was playing along, not aware of the fact that I am close to hyperventilating, and wigging out in a big way. I finally attempt to smoosh it, don't quite succeed, and instantly burst into tears. She was very helpful with spiders after that. See, I like smooshing even less than I like the spiders. It's just not pleasant, and if I mess up the first whack, I'm a mess.

Luckily I got all the ones today on the first whack. What really terrifies me now is this; spiders like dark corners, right? So for all the dozens that invaded the visible spots on my walls, how many are lurking under my covers? Crap. I have to go tear apart my bed now.

My knitting content is being replaced with handiness content. I finished laying the concrete board yesterday, and today, with many curses and bandaids, I managed to almost get back together the sink/vanity. I just have to replace one little piece of wood that I managed to turn into splinters, and then hope that the jerry-rigged bottom will hold the weight of the sink. I think it will. The frustrating part is that it is an ugly, chintzy little vanity, held together originally with staples (you try making staples re-attach). Seriously thinking about replacing the whole thing. Of course, if I have this many issues with a vanity-in-a-box, do I really think I can fabricate a whole new one? Mmm... no.

September 26, 2004

My tummy is full of gnochi and wine. My bathroom floor is covered with concrete board, just waiting for fun tiles and toilets. My computer seat gives me a perfect view of the full moon rising over my mountain. And I just whupped the computer in Monopoly, and whupped it bad. Life, it is good.

On top of all this goodness, I get to go home for my buddy's wedding in just a couple of days. Then I'm kidnapping my ma to bring her up north with me for a week. I feel blessed.

I'm still homesick and lonely and really don't like the nasty blue polo shirt I have to wear to work, if you really want to hear me whine, but all that is in the fuzzy distance. Man, that moon is a stunner. I think I'll go outside and sit a while.

September 23, 2004

Halloween's almost here! I'm twitching, I'm so excited. Or maybe that's the box of pumpkin peeps.

This is my favorite holiday ever. Better than Christmas, better than any birthday... in fact, the only way you could make it better would be to give gifts as well. Candy to strangers, DVD players to friends. Everyone gets dressed up, and at midnight, by the warm glow of jack-o-lanterns and street fires, everyone exchanges gifts. Could get confusing, though. "A negligee? I'm Frank, you idiot, your wife is the other ghost!"

I've always planned my costumes out almost a full year in advance. This was going to be my big year, the year I finally went as Martha. Stewart, not Washington. I've been searching for the perfect wig for the past 4 years, and collecting khaki's and denim shirts. I was ready. Now, no one will recognise me unless I wear prison orange, and there'll probably be a billion other Marthas out there. Sigh.

Speaking of not recognizing... did anyone else see the Larry King interview? It was frightening. She looked collagened and botoxed to the max, and I think Mary Kay herself did her makeup. Maybe even Tammy Faye. Oh, Martha... what happened to all your neutral tones?

Early in the morning a few days ago, having been up for well over 24 hours thanks to a schedule change, I came up with the best costume idea. First off, you have to understand that it's a group thing. Vegetables. One carrot alone would be pretty sad, but can't you just picture a whole flock of veggies walking down Castro? I'm really feeling the eggplant, I've got friends lined up for potato and leek, and I have the perfect celery in mind, I just have to convince him. Which may prove hard to do. My friends are starting to avoid my phone calls. I don't know why.

What is the proper pack name for a gang of vegetables? A murder of crows, a flock of seagulls, a... medley of veggies. Or goulash.

Okay, in reality, this is not going to happen. I'm getting a bit frantic. I guess I could go with my road idea from last year. No, I could be Life... as a highway. I wanna ride it all night long. Gimme gimme gimme gimme yeah. Still, I don't like costumes that require the question, "what the heck are you?" No one ever seems to appreciate my witty answer.

If you can't tell, I've been awake for a good bit today as well. I think I'll end this post before it degenerates any further, and go take a nap.

September 18, 2004

Want to get drunk and slaughter a few goats and virgins? No sorry, I Kant.

Seems I am closest to aggreement with Kant, according to this test thingie, which came from Lala, link on Rachael's site. No big surprise. I got a kick out of seeing the 46% agreement with St. Augustine. I always suspected. I'm not about to live off bread crusts and water in the desert, but still... pretty cool.

Last night, just before I fell asleep, I had one of those strange dream-images. A single image, that occurs when you are lucid enough to remember and marvel, but comes from out of fucking nowhere. This one was of the freaky recurring alien from the X-Files, shrunk to midget size, standing in the middle of my motel's corrider, eating pizza and laughing at me. That's all. Just that one image. Very Lynchian.

And no, I haven't had pizza in months, and I haven't seen the X-Files in even longer. I have no clue where that came from.

It has been a strange week here. On the positive, normal side, I managed to get a lot done. My bathroom floor is now stripped and intact, waiting for me to slap some concrete board down in preparation for tiles. I have a porch overhang, to keep the snow and ice off my steps. Yesterday I pulled out three broken windows, and slapped up plastic. The house looks happy and actively recuperating.

On the strange side... We'll start with a late night customer at work. A polite, tired looking man came in late one night, red-eyed from driving, and went through the motions of renting a room. Smile, Thank you, and walk out the door. Two minutes later, he was back.

"If we don't stay here, can I get my money back?" Now he was pissed. Flames were shooting from his red eyes.

"Ummm... we don't really do refunds... is there something wrong with your room?" I asked, realizing as I said it that he hadn't had nearly enough time to see the room, much the less find a pubic hair.

"No, it's the bitch I'm with! This whole trip has been a mistake..." and he went on and on, subjecting me to information I didn't at all want to know. Out he goes again, saying politely, "Do what you can, but I understand if you can't refund it." Polite to the end.

Two more minutes pass, and a woman carting pillows and a comforter comes in, and politely asks for a key to the room he just paid for. I asked if I should leave a key for the gentleman. "Oh yes," she replied. "I don't think he'll leave me here - it is my car, after all." On his way up, he dropped the keys off for me to put in the safe. "Under no circumstances are you to give them to her, okay?" Yeah, right.

This was all just icing on the cake, seeing as how I had woken up that night to bloodcurdling screams, and a woman's voice yelling over and over, "Call the cops! Someone call the cops!" Naturally, being a good upstanding citizen, I did. That was before I recognized the couple that just moved in across the street. The same couple I work with, every day. Before I found out that this happens all the time, but no one calls the cops, cause they don't want to get him in trouble.

So I felt a little bit bad. But that was before I thought about it. And before I knew that, in a drunken desire to drive, he had driven over her. So now I don't feel at all bad.

In the city, I used to listen to the fights in the apartment under mine, and wonder when the proper time to call the cops was. No one ever cried, and though I heard furniture smashing a time or two, it sounded like a pretty even fight, no one ever sported bruises in the morning, and the next night they would be back to their karaoke serenading of each other. "You arrrre my songggg!"

My fabulous night of domestic disturbances was a few days ago. This morning, the newspaper lady came in to my work about 4 am, as usual, and we chatted for a bit. "You live in that old store, right?" "Yeah," I said, thinking, hurrah for small towns. I'm known! She gave me a look, and said, "Heck of a neighborhood you've moved into."

She'd heard about the other ordeal, and that morning on her route, she had seen the cops and an ambulance at the other rental across the street. I still haven't found out what went on over there. I'm not sure I want to know. Whatever happened, for once, thank god, I wasn't a part of it at all.

Sometimes reality is stranger than a giggling pizza-mad midget in a motel hallway.

Sometimes. Not always.

And if you add weird flickering colored lights, it's never that strange.

September 15, 2004

It feels like it's been ages since I even turned my computer on. I'm working... way too much. It's funny that it's not even over 5 days a week, but it feels like so much more when it's midnights. I'm not really complaining, I need the work, and even with not much time off, I'm getting a good bit done on the house. There is now an overhang above the porch, a new sturdy one that won't fall on my head. The bathroom is torn down to the bare bones, which (thank god!) look fairly intact. I've got a guy in there right now, building the floor up again, and I should be up to tiling by next week. I may even have a toilet in there!

Water is going full force in both houses. There is a distinct brown color, but I think that is just to be expected with well water, right? I can still drink it, right? I mean, really brown. If I pour a glass of water, you can see the tint, and in a pot, it's even a wee bit cloudy. I'm not so sure about this. Still, it's a step up, and I am happy. And drinking tea anyway.

I managed to stay awake on Sunday to go to church, and hoo boy was I glad. The regular preacher was out of town, so a spare preacher from Plains came down for the day. He is also a logger, and the town gravedigger. He went on some interesting tangents, let me tell you.

No more for today. I don't have much else of interest, and really want to fit in a drive before I have to go to sleep. I got called in to work tonight, because the other midnight girl just quit yesterday.

Oh, did I mention it's cold? It's been in the 30s a few nights, and the days aren't getting up over 50ish. It's great, outside it smells like rain and woodsmoke all the time. It's a mountainy smell. Lovely.

September 09, 2004

Luckily, they aren't really harmful, but they're fast, and do bite. Of course the worst thing is that theyare ugly and scary. Bleh bleh bleh.

I had someone out today to spray chemicals galore, at least in the house I'm not sleeping in. They got the wasps nests as well, so I can venture outside a little more bravely. The good news is that the little bugs that were so pervasive are not cockroaches; just harmless, tough little beetles. Still, I don't say this often, but yay for chemicals.

I went a little bit crazy at the yarn store the other other day. "All work and no yarn makes Beth..." except that I do have yarn. Lots of it. I have no excuse, but... I needed MATCHING yarn. For the first time in my life, I am working with mohair, and lime green mohair at that. That's about as un-me as you can get. But it's perfect, it goes so well with the Jo Sharp Tweed I was gifted with, and it's making the perfect... Well, I can't really say yet. But it's perfect.

I counted yesterday. I have seven WIP. Seven! Life was so much easier when I only had one pair of needles and had to finish that before I could start anything.

September 01, 2004

August 31, 2004

Just looking back over my blogs; I actually used the title "cold" much more than "Bleh". Of course Rachael picked almost all my titles for me (yay for sisters). I also realized that a good half of my "travel" blog is comprised of whining about not traveling. The rest is whining about how hard it is to travel. Man, how do you deal with me?

My desk is set up in a corner of the Little House, so that I face the large sliding glass door when I am writing. I have the best view ever. I can see the mountain, just over the apple tree, and in between the two I get to peep into my neighbor's back yard (and kitchen). They have a tiny black cockerpoo who really, really likes to bark. It's not his fault, I suppose. There are at least three different cats that have an absolutely wonderful time taunting him. The grey tabby is at the chain fence right now. She perched on top for a while, faking an unsteadiness that drove him nuts, then jumped down so that her nose was less than an inch from his, which was pushing as far as it could through a chain link. He actually had to pull back to bark again, at which point the tabby would bob forward, then back again as he lunged. Oh what a good game.

Just to the right of that is the workshed. This is the third building on the property, the one that I have been avoiding thinking about. It's just too damn perfect. It needs to be done right, and I'm intimidated. The owner and I both have the same image, of a writer's/artist's/gardener's retreat, a typewriter facing the mountains, and a potting shelf covering one side.

It's beautiful. It has a sturdy look to it, even if it does have that old look that all good sheds and barns have. The colors progress, from red to where it meets the ground, up to brown, then silver and rust at the sky. On a day when the sky has that perfect Montana look, with a brilliant blue and big puffs of white, and the mountain is glowing green, it's just a little too perfect.

Having said that, it needs some work. I think there is only one small window, all the wiring is exposed (although there is electricity), it has strange chemical smells through it, and let's not even talk about the spiders.

Actually, let's talk about spiders. I had a run-in with another golf ball sized one today. He was dangling directly above the door to the Little House. He was wrapping up a bee, which I thanked him greatly for... before the Raid came out and the shoe come down. I'm sorry, I really am, I know spiders are good, I would love for him to suck the nasty venom out of more wasps and such, but there was no fucking way I was going to sleep with him right on the other side of a door with a 1/4 inch gap in the bottom. Ain't gonna happen. So I smushed him. And squealed. It really is like smushing a kitten when they're that size. Oh I'm so mean.

August 30, 2004

That must be the single most used title in blogland. Cause when you're bleh, you're bleh, and there's nothing else you can title it.

Or is that just me?

Actually, I'm not bleh at all today, but I sure as hell was yesterday. I worked at the coffee hut (I may actually call it cafe, for short, but don't get confused, it is just a hut that chucks coffee out the window) from 12 to 5 on Saturday, then tried valiantly (but ineffectually) to nap before I worked from midnight to 8 AM on Sunday. Also at 8 on Sunday I went back to work at the cafe. So basically we're talking about 18 hours of work, with a three hour almost-nap in between. Hello, Rachael!

Monday, of couse, I had a day shift at the motel, so I had to reset my system by staying up all afternoon after work on Sunday. I've discovered that I can pretty well combat the nausea and droopy eyes, with caffeine and triscuits, but there is no hiding the itchy, crappy, don't-wanna mood that comes over me. How Rach is ever pleasant is beyond me.

I had one of those crawly feelings, like I had to make something, do something, change something, but nothing sounded good. Didn't wanna clean; too much work. Didn't wanna knit; too creative. Didn't wanna write; way too much brainpower involved. Demolition sounded good, but I've already hacked the shit out of my bathroom floor.

I ended up tweaking and twisting and hacking at wire, and now I have a pretty nice, asymmetrical, completely ignorant of design tea candle holder. It's perched on one of the log walls, and it cheered me up a bit last night. Or maybe it was just that by the time I was done the sun had gone down and I could go to bed. Still, it's cheering me today as well. About 10 more of them would just look freakin' awesome. This one is much sturdier than the ones in my bathroom that caused my Mr. Bubbles to combust. Bubble bath for children should really not be flammable.

Did I mention already that I love my cabled Montana sweater? I'm about halfway through the back, and it's still coming out like magic. It just makes me happy to touch it. Lord, I'm setting myself up for a fall. Please fit, please fit, please don't mess up...

Speaking of sheep, I am slightly devastated. The running of the sheep is in Reedpoint, MT next weekend. This is something I just barely missed last year, and vowed to come back for. Now I'm in Montana, at the right time, and I can't go cause I have to freaking work. Oh, to be independantly wealthy. Actually, I just love that phrase. It sounds better than trustafarian. Neither of which I am. So I guess that vow will have to hold for another year or two.

Speaking of being devastated, Lee Press on and the Nails will be having their last show ever, on October 30 at Nicasio. Waah! Swing really is dead. Still, they never let that stop them before. I think I will have to make another trip home, even though I am planning on being there at the beginning of the month. Tach needs some wind, anyway.

August 27, 2004

I'm sitting in my knitting chair, watching the changeable sky that seems to be the norm here. One minute pouring, the next shining sun. It makes for interesting clouds and light, constant moving and fighting creating strange holes and beams that disappear into castles in a moment. I'm sipping Huckleberry Cream Soda, and I just turned on the heat for the first time. I'm loving Montana.

But Robert Earl Keen is singing little barbs at me; I never really made it to Texas. Two days in Amarillo does not a Texas experience make. How is it that I managed to miss the two states I wanted to hit most? I've dreamt about Louisiana since I was a kid, watching terrible Van Damme movies where he tries to be a Cajun. And Texas... sigh. What have I done?

It's okay, my travelin' ain't over yet. I'll get there. But damn, I wish I had made it on this trip.

The miles that I have traveled, the places I have seen
Just won't let me put a saddle on this crazy cowboy dream.

And yet I wouldn't for the life of me change where I am right now. I guess it's just in me to be torn; I always want to be in two places at once. Or five places.

I braved my bat and strange bug-ridden kitchen yesterday in order to make cookies. Somethings are just too important to let little animals drive you away. I took a plate over to one set of neighbors yesterday, and I think I'll bring some to the others that welcomed me tomorrow. Really I'm only justifying the cookies for myself, but I can always convince myself that others need my cookies.

Jobs are good, although too much. Yes, I do have two jobs now. Silly me, I know, but the coffee stop won't be more than a few days a month as back-up, and I can now add barista to my ever-growing resume fodder. The motel is not holding to the 2 or 3 days I insisted on; I'm sure in a few weeks I will actually say something about it. It's just such a hard choice; sleep and housework, or money? Hmmm. I think the money might win for another couple of weeks.

Still no response from the bug, water, or house repair guys. Grrr. Everything went so quickly and well, and then ground to a halt. It seems like I haven't progressed at all in the past 2 weeks. I still can't take a shower longer than 5 minutes, the bugs still are twitching, and the floor still has spy-holes to the basement. And winter, it is a-comin'.

Speaking of winter, my cable sweater is coming so well!! I love love love it! I'm just asking for something terrible to happen, aren't I? I'm going to discover some terrible flaw in my math, or run out of yarn halfway through. I am using a pattern for a much chunkier yarn, so even with my loose stitches, I had to add 40 stitches or so to get gauge. But it will fit. Oh yes, it will fit.

If I could live my life all over, it wouldn't matter anyway. Because I never could stay sober on the Corpus Christi Bay.

Every state I visited around Texas had things to say about them Texans. I think it was in New Mexico that I heard gripes, often interrupted by wry chuckles, about the crazy trucks with Texas plates that came up to go four-by'ing. They sure knew how to have fun, even if they tore everything to shit in the process. In Amarillo I leaned about mudding, a leisure-time activity that basically consists of tearing around river beds in big trucks, spraying as much mud as you can.

Damn, what else did I miss? Someday...

By the way; pictures are on the way, just need to figure out how to get them where they need to go.

Also by the way; anyone else have dreams about freeways? I'm alternating between horrible nightmares about flooding and the same repetitive nightmare where I drive the same damn interchange, night after night, and yet I never get it right and always end up stuck on a multi-lane interstate with no exit until hell. Is this just evidence of my hatred of interstates, or is there a deeper meaning?

August 24, 2004

I had my first visitor! My friend Sandy was passing through, and got to be the first person to receive my tour. She kindly followed me around as I proudly pointed out things like chairs. Working toilets. Things most people don't really think much about, but of which I am very proud. It didn't take long to show her the one room of the Little House, but I dawdled as much as I could, since afterwards, we headed up to the Blue Castle.

Which I've been ignoring a wee bit. I've been filling and decorating the Little House, so I could have a comfy spot to come back to and write and knit in, and entering the larger place just long enough to grab food and clothes (the LH is a little deficient on closet space and kitchens)(deficient in the sense that there are none; not much use for a kitchen in a hair salon).

We poked into all the rooms; I showed her the floor that I had ripped up, the big beautiful kitchen, and the strange writhing bugs that continue to appear every day. We were just about to head out, when I saw a movement from the corner of my eye. "Oh! It's a bird!" Sandy said. A bird? How did a bird get... "No, it's a bat!" she amended. Squeals and running ensued.

What with sonar cababilities and all that, there were no collisions, and he politely flew out while I held the door for him. It was twilight, and time for him to be roving, so I didn't worry much about rabies. Still. Really gotta get going on that chimney. I didn't actually see where he came from, but that must have been it. Because bats in the high up cabinets that I haven't peeked in yet is just not okay. So he came from the chimney, and left before he had a chance to touch anything.

This morning I went back in the house, singing loudly and whacking a mop handle sharply on all the cabinets, then listening for disturbed rustling noises. Nothing. I think he was a loner, hopefully never to return, since I closed up the one place he may have squeezed through on the stove. Bleh.

On a much, much happier note, I visited my LYS today! Of course Local means half an hour up the road, but it's a beautiful drive to Plains, it's closer than Missoula, and it is a lovely place. She had this amazingly soft yarn from Stedfast Yarns, just over in Bonner's Ferry, Idaho, that literally made me drool. Amongst many other drool worthy yarns. She's only been open a short time, and it seems like most of her customers are still beginners, making lots and lots of scarves out of lots and lots of novelty yarn. It was a great place, and she even holds knit nights, amongst the antique sofas she shares her space with. I can't wait!

I finally hunted down someone to take a look at the windows and bathroom floor. He probably can't do the work for a while, of course, but he'll come look tomorrow, and give me a timeline. I have to get cracking; it feels almost like it's going to snow any minute, and I really want to have the place with the wood stove liveable by then, just so I can have the option.

Aw geez, I just went and looked at the thermostat. It's a chilling, get this, 63 degrees. Sheesh. Yeah, it's gonna snow any minute. I'm a wuss. I need woolies. (which I will soon have; thank you Sandy!!)

August 22, 2004

Did you know that the Olympics have banned Pepsi and other products that are in direct competition with their sponsors? I don't know why that outrages me so much, but it does. And I'm a Coke girl, myself. Tell me no bottles, tell me no guns and knives, tell me no oversize umbrellas and excess change (even if I don't know why), but don't tell me I can't bring a product that doesn't give you money. I wonder if they'd confiscate my homemade cookies if Mrs. Fields is a sponsor. Sheesh.

Why does that piss me off so much? Exclusivity at events has always been a big thing that corporate sponsors pay a load for. This just takes it one step further.

Next they're gonna deny entrance to anyone not wearing Nikes.

So. On the homefront. I went to church today. No political speeches, just a nice sermon about motives and meaning, walking the walk kinda stuff. Made me feel a little guilty, since the only reason I forced myself out of bed was to insinuate my little liberal self in further. Shame on me. Last week I was pretty much point blank offered to be made a member, as the voting takes place this afternoon, and I pretty pointedly did not follow up on that. So I wanted to be sure they didn't think I wasn't interested anymore.

I'm so excited! Thanks to a wonderful reader, I am now armed with the knowledge that there is a new yarn store in Plains! That's only half an hour away, and I go there anyway for the organic food store. It seems it is hidden in an antique mall, which would explain why I didn't see it. My eye shys away from anything with 'antique' in the title. To me, that means 'used but expensive'. Like 'vintage'. Give me Goodwill any day.

I'm also getting a visitor! Yay for people! I actually have the Little House in a state that is not embarassing now, and I get to show off everything. Cool.

It's paused pouring for a minute, so I should run out to the store. We had hail and wild winds yesterday, with the rain continuing today. It knocked over a huge tree in the parsonage next door. I sat by the window, lit a candle, and knit while watching the rain. I love it.

** I just looked at my statistics, and I got a result from a search for barb wire pinstriping. Know who else came up on the list, just before me? Wil Wheaton's blog. Hee. Yes, we're two people you automatically associate with barb wire pinstriping. **

August 21, 2004

I love cables! I really, really love cables! Never my favorite X-man, but wow, what fun! I've known how to do them for ages, and I've used little teeny decorative ones, but this is the first time I have knit something that's all cables. It's like magic! This incredible, textured pattern is flowing out, and I'm like hey, how'd that happen? You mean if I move this... I've always been proud of anything I knitted, and would shine with pride when someone noticed, but with this, I want to go up and wave it under someone's nose and say, "I knitted this! Me! I made it!"

Grrr, I hate wasps. There is a couple little nests right outside the glass door, and I've been waiting (patiently) for the pest man to come and take care of them before I do a damn thing outside. He's still not been up my way, and it's been like a week. Next week I'll call and bug him some more. Bug him. Hee hee.

I've got a bit of a sleep deprived goof going on, please forgive me.

In most parts of the country, California is pretty universally derided. You say you're from there, and you get a slightly horrified look, and a "but you're such a nice girl!" Here, it seems to be a bit different. Here you get the "what part" question, which means you're either dealing with someone who lived there or someone who has a cousin in LA. We seem to be the first stop in a northward exodus from CA. Half of the people I talk to once lived in Chico, and the other half have already moved on to Alaska. (I don't know where my numbers are coming from or how I spoke to the half in Alaska; I'm tired, okay?)

Too sleepy to blog more. In brief; found hot springs and whole foods store, less than half an hour away. Snacking on soy nuts and dreaming of a soak. Trained for espresso job. Fun. Lots of TV and knitting expected, interspersed with lattes. Need haircut. Bought lamp. Little House look good.

Blue Castle still has hole in bathroom floor to basement. Ignoring for now. Plugged with toilet paper to prevent crawlies. Showers still held to 5 1/2 minutes. Learning to prioritize. Which body parts today? Still, would very much like reliable water/well/pipes man/woman. That's man or woman, not shemale. Though wouldn't that be cool, to find a transgender plumber in Montana. Really doubt it.

Guess I wasn't too tired to blog, just too tired for grammar. Now I really am too tired for both.

August 17, 2004

Cracklin’ Rose, you’re a store-bought woman, but you make me sing like a guitar hummin’.

That kinda describes how I feel about ol’ Neal himself. He’s kinda cheap and cheesy, but really, no one else makes me grin so much when I hear them. He has the power to make me happy. He just makes me want to do a goofy little dance.

Of course, I only listen to him when I’m in a good mood to begin with. If I was angry, he may just incite murder, or at least a fist through a wall.

I heard a strange noise outside my window a few minutes ago. It was a rythmic, scraping kind of noise, like an old man dragging a shovel in weak spurts, pausing for a breath every second or so. And he was getting closer. I got up and looked out the window when it sounded like he was about to drop at my door. It turned out to be a kid on roller blades, trying valiantly to get down our rough, one-step-up-from-dirt road. I can’t even imagine where she was going; there can’t be more than 20 feet of sidewalk or smooth paved anything in town.

You are the sun, I am the moon, you are the words, I am the tune , play me.

Many, many people, either in my comments, or their own blogs have mentioned that the only drawback to living in a small, rural town is the noted lack of liberals. Or a lack of open-mindedness (since those two aren’t always connected, no matter how I feel). That hadn’t been made very apparent to me. I’ve already met two artistically inclined, smart women… although that doesn’t necessarily mean liberal either, does it? Just most of the time.

I was at church on Sunday, for the third week in a row, so folks were starting to get to know me. Everyone greeted me, most by name, and I even got a few hugs. One was from Corny, the ~90 year old semi-retired plumber who offered again to take look at my pipes. As much as I need that, I just couldn’t make him clambor down into the three feet high crawl space. That’s just cruel.

Anyway, somewhere in between the announcements and community prayers, so that I couldn’t quite tell which it was, the pastor urged us to get out and vote this year. He couldn’t recommend a particular candidate, of course, but there were numerous issues coming up, not religious issues, but moral issues. Issues that are not protected in the bill of rights by any means. Issues that we need to take a stand on. Issues like abortion. Huh? Was there something coming up that I didn’t know about, or was he indeed recommending a particular candidate? Anyway, with the whole congregation nodding along, he told us that if we didn’t want the leftists to get one of their own in as president, we’d better get out there and vote. Because Kerry is sooo far left. Anyway, he would be discussing a new issue every week, until the election. I just bet you next week is gay marriage.

I’m actually kind of looking forward to this. I really like the people here, and folks like me already; I’m a likeable gal. After a couple months, when I’m firmly entrenched, serving caffeine to everyone at the coffee hut, volunteering for the fire department, laying on hands and healing everyone’s cats, much loved by all, a regular Mother-fucking Theresa, I’ll drop the bomb that I’m one of those leftists. I can be quiet until then. Because I have an agenda. That’s right, a liberal, leftist agenda, to show everyone that we weirdos can be nice, polite, church-going folk. Hee hee. This will be fun. And I can’t wait until the owner of the house gets here. They’ll be so confused; they won’t be able to not love her, but she’s one of THEM. Oh yes, this will be fun.

Brother Love’s Travelin’ Salvation Show is reminding me that I am a liberal that loves Neal Diamond. But I draw the line at Barry Manilow.

Shoot, I wanted to end the post with Barry, but I should say a little something to clarify where I am. The places I am taking care of/improving/loving are multiple. It's one lot, but on the property there is a large place, the Blue Castle (just a tribute to LMM, doesn't actually look like a castle... but it has the heart!), and a smaller log cabin, the Little House (another tribute; can you guess to who?). There's also a fairly large shed that I am saving for last, and a little tiny houselike thingie that holds the well, and probably houses several spiders, and maybe a lizard, so I think we can call it a house. I think that's it, but I'm never sure with this property; I wouldn't be surprised if I found a hurricane cellar or a fallout shelter in one of the back corners I haven't visited yet.

August 14, 2004

Last night was lovely. I sat in my comfy chair, put some Dar on, and cast on for two new projects. My first try at serious cables, my Montana sweater, made from the sinfully soft and scandously cheap wool/angora I got at the Classic Elite warehouse. $2.25 a skein! I feel like living on the east coast, just so I can be close to that place. I'm drooling just thinking about it. The other project is a secret. It has cables too, and that's all I'll say.

The chair was great, but I really need a spot to put my feet up. I don't really want a coffee table, since there's little tables and shelves all around the chair spot, but an ottoman would rock. I'm thinking of making one. One of sister Christy's old roommates had an uncle that made furniture from corrugated cardboard, and he gave them the most amazingly sturdy coffee table. I think I could handle a foot rest no problem.

I haven’t had enough quality time with Tach recently, so we headed out onto some of the backroads nearby. They’re pretty great. Camel’s Hump Road was perfect; empty, heavily forested, and led me in a nice little circle through the mountains. Plus it’s called Camel’s Hump.

After that little circle, I decided to take the road north, towards Glacier. I had already decided I wasn’t going that far today, but I wanted to see Paradise. I followed the road along the Clark Fork, seeing more of those great signals and trestles, and just before Paradise, found the hot springs that I knew were nearby. Way to hot for that today, but I’ve already decided that to celebrate the first snow, I’m heading up there. It’s only about 20 minutes away.

Paradise was a cute little town, with a stand that sold Huckleberry Lemonade (shortened Huckade on the sign). By this point I was so close to Plains, I kept going.

Plains is amazing. I don’t think it’s changed much since Wallace Stegner’s time; the houses are all familiar, and some of them even have old Packards and Ford vans out front. On one, I swear I could see bullet holes from it’s days as a rum-runner. There’s an organic food store, closed today, but good to know, and photo processing place.

I stopped at a rummage sale at the senior center and found a record player, complete and working, with speakers and a good needle, for $3. The ladies said that it had been through three rummage sales already, its price going lower and lower. No one was interested. Of course I snatched it up; I have about a hundred records that I haven’t played in 5 years. Plus it had an 8-track in it! How could I say no? As I was leaving with it in my arms, an old man was coming up the drive. He stopped short when he saw me, and said, “You bought it! I was just on my way to come and get it.” Poor old machine had sat through a year of rejections, only to be snatched up and fought over in the end.

I found a nice rocking chair, too. I wasn’t going to get it, but it would be nice to offer guests a place to sit, and I was entranced by a cute little log cabin that I passed that looked a lot like mine, but with a rockign chair out front. Nothing else gave the impression that anyone lived there, but the rocking chair made the place look… homey. Now I’m home, feeling too tired and lazy to do much of anything. It took me an hour to get up enough gumption to turn on the computer. I think I’ll just sit some.

August 13, 2004

Man... how did it get to be afternoon? I meant to fall into bed when I got home. Darn the lure of the computer!

I really like my midnight shifts at the motel, but that may be because I like feeling loopy. Tiredness can be pretty damn fun sometimes. But it doesn't make me the most coherent of bloggers, so I'll keep this short today. Just some wonderful bits and pieces from around here.

Every night I put on my fabulously soft, rainbow colored legwarmers. I have to take them off after about 4 minutes, because it's still in the lower 90's here (what? Montana's not cold all the time? dang it!), but they make me happy, and I really want it to get really freezing now.

I have a warm, comfy chair. It's a strangely appealing kinda orangish red, with a cheap blue cushion to add comfiness, and my blue afghan to add home. From Mary Sarton, quoted in inspired house, "A house that does not have one warm, comfy chair in it is soulless."

The first week I was here, my next door neighbor came over with lemonade and cookies.

My pastor's wife came over with a marble cake yesterday.

In church, there's a 15 minute section for prayer requests, where everyone calls out things they need help with, or are grateful for. It's like a big, communal, good-natured gossip fest.

My woodstove. It's just the cutest damn thing.

A beautiful piece of art on a ladder in a light, clean, and airy wood cabin.

I have a flushable toilet.

Chai tea in a box.

I can take a sink out, all by myself. I even think I can re-install it right, when the floor is done.

There's a garage sale and raffle today in order to raise money for an ill neighbor with no health insurance.

The ground in the front yard is covered in little green apples that I can throw for the neighbor's boston terrier.

There's some really good roads, practically in my backyard, and tomorrow I have the day off. I think I'll really give myself a day off. I need to head towards Glacier, or before I know it, snow will have closed most of it off to me again.

I live on the Clark Fork River. It follows the road east and west, and though it's always there, it surprises you every once in a while when you come around a bend, and you're stunned all over again. I really need to go fly fishing.

I live on one of the last two sections of railroad in the entire US to have these old fashioned signal arms. Apparently they are very impressive. Normally, I'm not much impressed or at all aware of railroad thingies, except to say, hey, that's a train. But I actually noticed these signals and admired them, well before being told that they are just the coolest thing. They really are cool, and they fit into the landscape of trestles and tunnels and mountains and rivers perfectly.

I guess that's enough for now. It's good to think of these things, instead of spiders and roaches, my sore feet, dirty living room, thrashed bathroom, explosive stove, and neighbors with mullets and 3 kids by 18. Although it's kinda fun to dwell on those things every once in a while too.

Here's the best bad thing. There's a room in the Blue Castle that's been shut off since my second day here. The hardwood floor is covered with dead flies and other... detritus. I think they may have kept their dog there. There's trash and empty boxes, and on the door, someone has drilled a tiny eyehole, and written underneath "do NOt desterb". From my head to my feet, you can see whole grubby handprints. It's really almost fabulously bad. I tend to avoid looking over there.

August 11, 2004

Ah, screw it. You're getting all my saved up posts today. Come back and read them slow if you want to, but that first one was just too bleak, and I'm not feeling that way at all today. I'm doing a little dance today. So you get the happy ones too, and just have to deal with the overload of posts.

AUGUST 6th

Twilights are hard. I sit uncomfortably still, in between my daytime fixer-upper busy-ness and evening reading, confused and uncertain, fighting the urge to run away as fast as I can. I distract myself by calling everyone I ever knew, and running down my never-ending list of things to do with each one of them. Some twilight, I’ll find that my list has dwindled, and my legs have stoppped twitching.

My list:

Call in handyman or general contractor for a walk-through.
Besides the three windows that are cracked and need replacing before winter, I need someone to shave the door to the root cellar down, tear out the funky seventies “patterned” carpet in the bedroom, and look at replacing all the linoleum through the house, since it’s all bubbling and worn through. The overhang on the front porch is cracked and peeling, and the tin roofing over that threatens to fly away in a good breeze. When I first arrived it was bent in half, one side laying properly, the other reaching for the sky. Subsequent winds have folded it back even further, so that it is hanging off the side by one nail. God knows what else someone with a trained eye will find.

Call pest control.
Thankfully, it appears that the ten little hornets nests in the eaves of both houses are pretty much abandoned. Unfortunately, this is probably because they have all moved in to the monster nest behind the garage. There is also a doghouse nearby that seems to have a lot of flying visitors, but I’m not about to stick my head in there.

Talk fire chief into coming out.
I have bats, not birds, in my chimney. They are conscientious neighbors, they make just a few quiet squeaks when they are flying out at twilight, but I don’t really want to roast them the first time I build a fire, and isn’t guano highly flamable? I can just see the stove exploding the first time I light a match, and me covered in flaming guano. Even if it was clean, I have no idea how to use a wood burning stove. I’m hoping a friendly fireman will explain the dos and don’ts. (Do: use wood, not plastic. Don’t: pour gasoline on it if you’re cold.)

Replace bathroom
Okay, maybe not the entire bathroom, but not far from it. The bathroom is at the back of the house, so by the time I got there on my first walkthrough, I was a little… overwhelmed, and dazed already. I barely registered the spongy floor, before reaching automatically for the toilet handle. Well, it did still flush, anyway. It flushed all over the damn place. The bowl had cracked at some point, causing a slow leak where the bowl met the floor, and a fast forceful leak from everywhere else if you were dumb enough to try to flush it. This had been going on for long enough to rot completely the layer of plank sub-flooring under the linoleum, and a small piece of the flooring under the flooring. Strangely enough, the one thing I imagined adding to the house was a tile mosaic bathroom floor. So I’ll definitely get the chance to do that.

Replace water pump.
There are two houses on the property. The water and electricity had been left on in the Blue Castle, so when I first came in, I did have a trickle. After an hour of running everything, I still had a trickle. After a conversation with my sister and turning on the valves (Valves? What valves? I’m really new to this, okay?), I still only had a trickle. My neighbors had informed me that I have an artesian well (I heard “that’s good water” from no less than six people), so I called the well folks to come out and take a look. Having them come out gave me the added comfort of sending a strong, young man down into my creepy cellar to take a look.

I think I’ll take a little break from the list to tell you about my root cellar. The day after I found my secret door, the owner told me about there was a root cellar on the property, and I put two and two together. Now, you have to understand where I’m coming from here. California. California doesn’t have cellars. We barely have attics, for the most part. We’re very much a closet state. So for my entire life, basements and root cellars have only existed in movies and books. Mostly horror movies and books. No one goes into the cellar unless something really bad is going to happen; angry zombies or a tornado. You can understand that I wasn’t terribly thrilled when one of my neighbors came by and was able to shove open the door. We looked down the steep, cobweb cluttered stairs, into the pitch black, and decided to stay upstairs. I manhandled the door shut, knowing full well it may never be able to open again.

Just a couple days later it turned out I had to open it again, as that was where the house’s water pump was located. The well guy and I armed ourselves with flashlights and headed down. I let him go first. To clear the cobwebs and attract the zombies. You couldn’t make me do that job for anything. I would like to say that my spookiness disappeared when I saw how normal the cellar was, but that would be a baldfaced lie. The floor is uneven dirt, the cobwebs cover the entire basement, there’s just enough room to crouch or hunch, not to stand, there’s a fabulous old door lying on the ground, half rotted with spider sacs on it, there’s plastic cordoning off one section with a big raccoon or small zombie shaped torn hole, there’s pipes leading to old rusty cans, there’s a constant drip down one corner of the old, crumbly wall. And there’s far off dark corners that I never even looked in.

Oh, and the water pump is shot. It needs to be replaced. I actually went to Home Depot and thought about doing it myself. I think I maybe could do it. If the zombies don’t eat me first.

The well guy also took a look at the Little House. To do this, we crawled through the trap door in the bathroom, into a crawlspace. This one’s actually kinda cute! There’s a new looking sink, plastic covering the dirt floor, and not quite so many spiderwebs. It’s actually lit, and since the whole building was only built in ’95, everything looks nice and newish. I’ve been down there a few times on my own since then, with no fear of zombies. It’s comfy. The guy discovered that the pump’s jet had been pulled to drain the pipes, and in the pulling, had been stripped. We couldn’t test it since the electricity was still off, so he put it back in as well as he could, and told me to keep an eye on it.

Later that day I got the electricity on. Driven by the dream of having a toilet, I ran over and switched the water on. Boy, did it go on. I think every faucet and pipe in the house had been left on, in order to drain the pipes when they winterized the place. I shut it back off, mopped everything up, turned everything off, and tried again. This time, it seemed to work. I even flushed the toilet. Yay! A couple hours later, after dark, I came back, only to hear the pump working in spurts, and the sound of water coming from under the house. Shoot. I assumed the jet had popped out, and shut it off again. Well, I had a toilet for a second, anyway.

The next morning, I poked my head down into the crawlspace. Strangely, everything looked pretty good. There weren’t any big pools of water, and the jet appeared to be in place. I tried again. Again, everything sounded good for a while. An hour later, I heard the pump working and the water pouring, so I jumped down to explore. Turns out the pump wasn’t the only thing down in the crawlspace. The water heater was as well. One quick turn of a handle, and all my problems were fixed. For now. In that one area. But I’ll take what I can get.

Okay, back to the list. Wait a minute, is that it? What am I forgetting? That can’t be it! I have to finish cleaning and furnishing, but that’s minor. I must be forgetting something. Well gosh, how about a list of what I’ve done.

By the way, I’ve just been back out to the Little House, and it seems the pump isn’t working quite as it should. When it’s pumping, it goes on and off in intervals of a second. I don’t think that’s normal. Plus, after an 8 minute shower, the water shuts off. Needs work, but definitely liveable. I learned to shower quickly in Florida truck stops. I can flush; what more does a girl need!

AUGUST 10th

Twilights aren’t so hard anymore. I’ve started training at the Motel, we’ll call it Great 7+1, just in case, and my shifts are either swings or midnights. Either way, at twilight I’m either out of the house or asleep.

On top of that, I’m just more comfortable. I’ve felt pretty comfy in both places for a while now; apart from the odd spider or two, nothing scares me anymore. And most of the spiders are curled up and smooshy. Man, those Raid bombs do a number on them. I can’t help but feel a little sad for them. Especially for the really tough bugs, the beetles and the little buggy things I have a sneaking suspicion are roaches. They’re too tough to kill, but they do stagger out of their hiding spots and do some serious twitching. What a way to go. But go they must; I’m not that in tune with nature, sorry.

Yesterday was another big shopping trip to Missoula, and as a result, this place is feeling more and more like home. I moved most of my furniture to the Little House, and it just looks so damn cute. The sun comes in from the big sliding glass doors and settles on my big comfy reddish chair with the blue afghan Rachael crocheted for me thrown over it. That’s my knitting chair. Next to it is the cheapo but attractive end table I assembled myself, with the popsicle stick lamp I found at Goodwill, and the textured paper and flowers lampshade. My good ole futon sections off the sinkroom (I can’t really call it a kitchen) from the rest of the house, and in the opposite corner, I have my desk arranged so that if I look up, I see my comfy chair with the Mountain in the background. The TV is hidden in the closet, just in case I go nuts during the winter. Till then, there it shall stay.

The Blue Castle… well, it’s still a mess. One thing at a time. Yesterday I was feeling pretty damn gung-ho, so I tackled the bathroom. I’m extremely proud. It looks like a tornado hit, but it was just me. The sink made me sweat a bit, but it came out logically, and the top layer of linoleum came up as easy as pie. Most of the subfloor underneath came up easily as well, since it had been so wet for so long and had turned into sawdust. The dry stuff took some more sweat and wrestling with a crow bar, but I got it out. The real problems came when I tried to take out the nails from the subfloor. In the spots with the most damage, around the sink and toilet, three or four layers of old linoleum came up too, as well as bits of the real floor. There’s even one small hole that I think goes all the way to the cellar. I dropped a bit of wood down it and listened for it to hit bottom, like we used to do in the Japanese hospital caves in Saipan. At least it didn’t echo.

The damage is a wee bit more extensive than I expected. I still have to have someone come out and look at the windows and roof anyway, so I’ll just point him towards the bathroom as well. I guess it’s to be expected; that wood has probably been there, soaking up spills for the last sixty odd years.

I always wanted a really old house. A victorian, or an 1800’s manor house, or even better, a medieval castle. Considering the work that this not-quite-that-old house is going to take, I may have to revamp my dream house idea. Maybe a brand new house that looks really old. Faux mildew and moss stains on the exterior, interestingly mottled walls inside, secret rooms and strange architectural details that could have been the side effects of renovations, but are in fact cunningly designed by todays’ top people. Naw, that would just be cold. No matter how perfectly you ‘antique’ a new house, you can always tell whether it’s been lived in and loved or not. This one has. That makes me happy. It’s worth the sweat.

Okay, I think I've gotten a little hooked on the internet somewhere along the line. This past week I've been going a little bit crazy. But now I'm back, baby!

I'm not even going to look in my e-mail box. That can wait one more day.

Okay, get ready for buttload of posts, all saved up in one big one. On second thought, I'm going to break them up a bit. Here's one from about a week ago.

Day One

It’s my first night here. Of course, I’ve been here for four nights now. The first night I had a gigantic case of the wiggins. I got in around four in the afternoon, and was instantly terrified. I had to round the block twice before I decided that the sad, abandoned looking place really was where I was meant to be. It was, so I poked my head in, then ran back out to the Super 8 to hide that head in plush, laundered pillows, and watch HBO. Tomorrow was soon enough to tackle… everything.

On the second night, the whole place was still filthy, and, due to legitimate errands and illegitimate procrastination, I didn’t have a chance to clean out a space to throw my futon down. So I piled my dirty laundry into a pillow, and had one last night in good old Tach. From outside, I was able to discern that the eerie sounds that would have given me conniptions from inside, were actually caused by a sweet looking family of birdies in my chimney. I stared at the windows for a while, certain that something was inside, throwing itself against the curtains, until I finally realized that the screen on Tach’s window combined with my own swaying, was creating the illusion.

Sweet Tach. How could I leave him with only one last night. So I gave him two. Yesterday, my chosen room was cleaned and filled, with yard sale findings and yarn, but instead of filling it with myself as well, I decided to let the house get used to me gradually. First my stuff, then me. Another reason, possibly more compelling, is that yesterday I found the root cellar. Partially found, anyway.

Having called a locksmith to come out, I had decided to wander the property looking for doors to fit the five extra keys I had. Peering at the house from the street, I noticed two windows where my bedroom was. My bedroom only has one window. And it’s the last room in the house. Suddenly I knew I had a secret room, and instead of the joy and excitement I always imagined it would bring, I felt terror. What the fuck was in there? And would it come out to get me, all on my lonesome? I’m a big, big fan of secret rooms and passageways, but tell me how well you would sleep with one separated from your head by only a slightly decaying wall. I traced the window to a door on the back porch.

I braved my way out onto the porch that was completely covered with dirty blankets, abandoned vacuum cleaners, and torn up mattresses, and found the door. It didn’t help me with my excess key situation, however, since there was no handle and no lock. This, of course, worried me even more. God knows what or who could have snuck down there at any time during the past year, and was now either dead and decaying or waiting patiently for me. I had images of crazy itinerants (wait, shit, that was me two weeks ago) lurking in the darkness. Determined to drive them out (of my head, anyway), I lent all my force to the door, which politely opened ¼ of an inch. Well, if I can’t get in, neither can crazy homeless guys. Bravely peeking through the window, all I could see was a gate type of thingie, and lots of jugs and bottles and chemical thingies. My sister and I decided I should get the fire chief to force the door open by telling him I suspected a meth lab. Hey, it could happen! Those last tenants were might shady.

And so tonight, finally, after a long day of bonding and cleaning and ignoring the secret door, and a short night of drinking champagne, I am ready to sleep. I think. It also just happens to be storming like crazy outside. The wind keeps lifting the broken roof over the front porch, and dropping it back down with an alluminum crash. The wind also seems to come right through this window in front of me, despite its being closed. Hmmm. I think maybe Tach is feeling lonely…

July 29, 2004

I received the best Road Carma sign from above yesterday. Two, actually, if you count the wonderful phone call from Greta. I also found a potato chip shaped like a happy face. Perfectly round, with even eyes and a smiley shaped crack. That's gotta be a good sign.

I left the Bay Area two days ago now. Leaving via the east bay, I could just make out the Golden Gate Bridge poking its head out of the fog, and I spent the next hour on the road thinking about all the things I really, really love about San Francisco. There's kinda a lot.

Since then, I've been daydreaming about Montana. I almost couldn't sleep that first night out, my head was so filled of plans. It's ridiculous, since I don't even know what the place looks like yet, but I just know it is going to be perfect, and it's just up there waiting for me.

I am always telling myself to slow down, enjoy what I'm doing, but it's really, really hard this time! There's a big, perfect place, in a small, perfect town just up there waiting for me, so what the hell am I doing down here? I blasted out 12 hours on the interstate yesterday, and now I'm just 6 hours away, in Seattle, doing my best to slow down. I'm visiting a friend who moved up here a year ago, and as great as it is to see him, I'm itching to move again.

He's just tempted me with Snoqualamie Falls, featured in Twin Peaks, only 20 minutes away. And Bainbridge Island. Okay, maybe just one more night. Montana will still be there tomorrow. Ooo, is that like, "I'll be right back"? Am I tempting fate? If so... actually, I would love to see what the hell could wipe Montana off the map in one day. Bring it on. Montana will still be there tomorrow.

Add-on: Perhaps I should actually tell you what I am doing. I am going to Montana for the winter, to write, knit, paint, and basically be as artsy and cold as I can for a while. Through providence and a wonderful woman, I have a big house to caretake, and space enough to do whatever I please. Life is good.